
to vapour in the cold night air. Then to my
complete surprise the bundle of rags begins
to move. A head emerges the face is that of a
woman of indeterminate age, bedraggled and
careworn. To set her at rest I silently crouch
down, intending to offer assurance that she
need not be afraid of this man.
Nonplussed, I find myself saying. “Hey! I just
wanted to say hello and to wish you a quiet
and peaceful Christmas.”
The old woman cautiously begins to relax,
realising I mean her no harm. Relief spreads
across her countenance, an experience which
I guess she rarely encounters. Drawing in a
shallow breath she responds in a timorous
voice.
“Thank you dearie, and the same to you. But
no, I have no plans and will just endure the
day, just like any other and hope for better
things in the future. And my name is Jane. ”
Trying hard not to stare, I became aware of
her long grey matted hair framing a weather-
worn face, deeply lined with hardship - but
perhaps younger in years than her
countenance suggests. She has teeth missing
and those that remain are deeply nicotine
stained; her fingers are gnarled and ringless.
However the third finger of her left hand a fail
pale mark. This finger twitches erratically
while clutching a thinly rolled unlit cigarette. A
coughing spasm erupts from deep inside of
her as she conjures what looks like a grey
dishcloth from beneath the blanket coverings.
She covers her mouth, depositing the
contents of her lungs in it before again
removing it from sight.
Desperate to offer some measure of comfort
to this beleaguered soul, but not knowing
exactly what, I fumble out a ramble of words
without proper thought.
“Surely Jane, there must be a shelter of sorts ,
a hostel or maybe even a soup kitchen close
by, that could help you with a homely
Christmas even if you don’t have a family to
share Christmas with.” Her assertive response
comes as a total shock.
“I never said I didn’t have a family, because I
do.”
Jane’s manner becomes insistent and
surprisingly, carries a note of pride..
“I was once a teacher and my husband is a
surgeon in Oxford where he and my children
currently live. I think of them a lot and
especially at this time of year. ”
I find myself totally nonplussed, unable to
comprehend how such a situation could
possibly exist so I decide to keep my own
counsel. Thoughts flash through my mind.
This poor and lonely soul was once a source
of knowledge and was probably a pillar of
society with a professional husband and
family. How on earth could this situation of
immeasurable extremes could possibly have
come about? There are surely more
questions than answers, rendering my good
intentions both feeble and useless. I mean
well but find myself truly out of my depth.
Retreat is surely my only option. I stand,
ready to leave, as Jane is again overtaken by
a deep and lasting smokers cough, racking
her frail body. On impulse, I edge gently
forward and place the unopened flask in front
of her.
“God bless and protect you,” is all I can come
up with. I turn silently, intending to walk away.
Then perhaps my imagination but I seem to
hear a quiet and timorous voice “I love you.”
Christmas has visited me with an unexpected
but most needed dose of awareness of life’s
realities. With my thoughts in turmoil, I make
my way back to Holly Cottage and a life, until
now, taken too much for granted.
And there unnoticed in the gathering
darkness, snowflakes, silent as memory fall
lightly on all mankind.
Creative Writing
13